Pasta Night
by Gigette
Summary: Ten long years. She's had enough.


Ten long years go by and he hasn't aged a bit.

Sheldon Lee Cooper remains the towering, effortless prodigy he's always been. His boyish attributes also go untouched; from his parted hairstyle, to the rosy tint in his cheeks. With time though, all men change. While forever faithful to his comic obsession, he no longer sports his favorite superhero t-shirts, but instead, neutral collared shirts and slacks. He has his favorite figurines, posters and other collectables in a box somewhere in the garage labeled as such. Years ago at the beginning of their marriage, he had a room dedicated to them, a room which not even Amy was allowed in. With some compromise and various bribes to lectures and movie premieres, she swayed him to empty it and convert it back to its original purpose: a guest room. Every now and again they would get Leonard and Penny visiting, and occasionally an inebriated Koothrappali would find shelter there as well. Sheldon never liked the possibility that there would be any sort of physical romancing on that spare bed, or drunk tears and vomit, for that matter. However, Amy reassured him and washed the sheets and mattress immediately after guests left.

Amy felt very aged whenever she was near him.

She replaced her everyday brown cardigan with a thick black blazer over a white blouse. Her normal knee length skirts now went to her ankles. ''_To discourage any unwanted attention as a married woman'',_ she told herself. Originally she had thought of keeping her hair below her shoulders, a task that seemed impossible after the marriage. The move meant she couldn't visit Penny and Bernadette as often as she liked anymore, and they _were_ her inspiration for her sudden fondness of femininity. She had little patience for anything past the proper combing, and thought the conditioners, dying and all that product nonsense was complete rubbish. When she had asked Sheldon for an opinion, he merely gave her a factual response.

"What you decide to do to your hair is neither of my interest or concern. Perhaps you should cut it short in order to avoid high maintenance."

As hurt as she may have been to hear such a reply from her husband, he made a good point. The decision was made and she had her hair cut into a dark bob that reached just below her ears. She visited the salon every 3 months, had her hair cut done by the same stylist every visit, went home to the same unimpressed Sheldon every night.

Routine was something Sheldon firmly believed in. He never enjoyed change, so the marriage did little for their relationship as a whole. She continued to worship him as she'd always done, but Sheldon showed almost no improvement on the expression of feelings and romantic gestures. Amy knew from the beginning it would be this way, but what she wasn't aware of was how at loss she'd feel throughout, her need for intimacy growing with every passing day. The daily hug and peck were not enough anymore.

She sat before him, eating dinner. Thursday. Thursday night was pasta night. All pastas were acceptable as long as they were home cooked, followed from a recipe book that he had approved, and contained no seafood of any kind. Tonight's meal was a creamy fettuccine pasta with grilled chicken slices accompanied with store bought garlic bread. Sheldon had no real preference on side dishes, so Amy kept it simple as possible. She sipped at her water, letting condensation take its toll through her grasp. Sheldon sat upright in front of her, forking through cut pieces of chicken, eating largest to smallest accordingly.

Something brought her on a specific edge tonight. What is was she couldn't quite pinpoint, but by then, she had far too many reasons to choose from. She would keep calm, excuse herself, and turn in early. She pushed from the table and cleared her throat, "Permission to save my remaining dinner and enter my quarters?"

Sheldon doesn't miss a beat. His eyes never leave his plate. "Permission is to be determined. What is your reasoning?"

"I find myself very exhausted from both household chores and clinic hours. Please allow me to rest a few more extra hours tonight so that I may function properly tomorrow morning."

"Permission denied. You are to stay and finish your dinner or wait until I feel prepared to excuse you."

Amy rises from her seat regardless, in somewhat shock and awe that he's come to such terms. She feels her cheek flush with a bit of frustration, but hopes he will come to his senses as she steadies her tone. "Sheldon, please. I'm not hungry, but I'm very tired-"

"That's not my problem." Sheldon interjected, patting his lips gently with a napkin. "My problem is that my own wife is failing the schedule we worked so hard to create."

Perhaps it was the way his voice rolled so carelessly off his tongue as he spoke, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't bothered to look up at her since she arrived. She's sick of talking in such a professional manner. She's sick of pasta night, pizza night, all assigned nights. All those long dreaded years she endured for just a quick kiss and embrace angered her more than ever. She'd been dealing with it for too long. Amy trembled as she stood, heavy breaths escaping her lips.

"I am going to _bed_." She mutters through gritted teeth. "Goodnight, Sheldon."

She hears the drop of his fork hit his plate, and catches a glimpse of his bewildered expression before she turned to leave.

* * *

It's been half an hour since dinner. Amy's changed into her usual cream nightgown and slipped off her glasses. Her gaze stops on the two separate cots for a moment, then finds a seat in her bed. She's both anxious and furious. She was pissed off quite frankly, but nevertheless, she loved the man. She 'd made a mental note to apologize in the morning. Perhaps a nice detailed e-mail or wordy text message. She'd been thinking up an apologetic first paragraph when she heard the knocking, each third accompanied by her name.

"Amy. Amy. Amy."

"Yes?"

There's a pause, and then, "Are you decent?"

"I am."

He enters their room, shutting the door softly behind him. It's dark except for the bathroom light she's kept on, which Sheldon briefly notices, but decides to ignore. His face is blank, just like before. He makes his way toward her and sits on his own bed across from her.

Amy can still see his soft features, his twiddling thumbs. "Hello." She says almost questioningly.

"Hello yourself." He replies.

"I assume...dinner was adequate."

"Quite. Though to be honest, I decided to save some for tomorrow myself."

There's no such thing as leftovers for Sheldon. No such thing as a repeated meal, no matter the occasion. "Tomorrow?"

He looks up at Amy, gets up, and settles beside her. "The dinner schedule we made was for both of us. I suppose if I let one thing go, I might as well enjoy the chaos and join you for bed."

His words calm her. She smiles. "Thank you, Sheldon."

He shakes his head. "Thank _you,_ Amy."

His arm struggles to find its way around her shoulder, but once it does, pushes her gently towards his chest. She feels the shake of his hand, his elevated heartbeat. She doesn't know where he's going with this, but she likes it.

"I analyzed your actions at dinner earlier tonight and came to the conclusion that...I..."

Now _he's_ clearing his throat. He's dreadfully nervous. Amy peers from beneath his chin to see it in his eyes but remembers her glasses are off.

"...I don't...appreciate you enough, and I'm sorry for any discomfort I may have caused you."

She puts both hands on his chest to pull away for a quick moment. She can't believe he's apologizing about something so sincerely. "Sheldon?" She almost fears it's a dream, or that he's under the influence of some kind. The feel of his skin and the lack of alcohol in his breath tells her otherwise.

His gaze falls to her. "Amy Farrah Fowler, you're a brilliant woman. A brilliant, fearless woman. _My_ brilliant, fearless woman. There isn't another being in this world I'd rather spend my life with than you."

It's been a while since she's cried. Tears run down her cheeks in silence. "Sheldon..."

"Hm?"

"It's...Amy Farrah Cooper, now, remember?" She beams through moist eyes. It's surprising he hasn't made a remark on her crying fit ruining his work shirt, or her emotional toll in general.

"Ah yes," he smiles. "Amy Farrah Cooper, may I ask a request?"

"Anything, Sheldon."

"May I sleep in your bed tonight?"

At this point she'll take anything. Whatever he throws out next she'll greet with open arms. Her trembling voice has steadied. "Of course...but...may I ask why you decided on...such a request?"

"I figure what with the skipping dinner, sleeping early, I could go for gold and...try something new."

She's ecstatic, but before she can say another word, Sheldon lifts his index finger to calm her.

"Now, while I am willing to try something new, I want to keep a slow pace of things. For now, we will share a bed, nothing more."

He was referring to the possible intimacy that followed after, she imagined. She couldn't ask for the world, now could she? "Of course. We'll take things as slow as you want."

He nods and lets go of her, pulling the sheets of the bed and tucking himself in. Amy follows shortly after, pulling the covers and lying next to him face to face. "No pajamas?"

"I'm just one hell of a bad boy tonight, aren't I miss?" He says softly, with that authentic country twang.

"You know, we could always push the beds together if you-"

"Amy Farrah Cooper, are we going to sleep early or not?"

"Sorry." She whispers. "Goodnight, Sheldon."

Sheldon thinks it's best to keep some of the routine going, for his sanity's sake. He pecks her softly on the lips, then closes his eyes.

"Goodnight, Amy."


End file.
